


but his brother, sleep

by nautilics



Series: SASO 2017 Fills [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Gen, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Second Person, non-explicit mentions of animal death & drowning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nautilics/pseuds/nautilics
Summary: To each of them, Osamu gave the same response, never once leaving his vigil: "My brother is still resting. Come back tomorrow.A pilgrimage to a lonely mountaintop, a god who sleeps, and a god who watches over him.





	but his brother, sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 4: Quotes | Originally posted [here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/23665.html?thread=14496881#cmt14496881).
> 
> title & prompt from _The Dream Thieves_
> 
> the tags for death, drowning & violence to animals are brief and non-explicit! however, please let me know if you feel they require adjusting.

It takes several days to make the trek up the mountain to where the rumours converge. As the sun is setting on the fourth day, you set up camp just below the summit and huddle over a weakly crackling fire, shivering as you wait for darkness to fall.

Here, at the edge of the sky, the wind feels especially cold.

When your fire is nothing but spluttering embers, and the light of the moon shades your skin a ghostly tint, you gather your offerings, draw your cloak tighter around your shoulders, and trudge up to the summit.

Just as the rumours say, a figure is perched on the highest point, his back turned towards you. The lines of his body cut an unnatural silhouette against the moon-drenched rocks: a human-shaped space, devoid completely of light. 

You hesitate, steel your nerves, and step forward. Before you can speak, the figure turns and, in a voice that brushes ice against your skin, says: "Please be quiet, or you might wake him."

You blink, and see what you didn't before; he is sitting before a smoothened shelf of rock, watching over another figure, strikingly similar in physique, whose chest moves in deep, rhythmic motions. You can't see the sleeping figure’s face from where you are standing, but somehow you know, without a doubt, that it would be a mirror of the one watching you with unwavering eyes.

You duck your head, a bow or a blush. "My lord, please forgive my intrusion. I come with offerings from the villages at the foot of this humble mountain." You dare a few steps, and when he doesn't move, you place the offerings before him, quick to scurry back once you are done.

His eyes flicker towards the gifts before resettling on you. The moonlight lands on him properly now, and you see heavy-set eyes, and a fringe that whispers across his forehead.

The rumours never mentioned that the god of death would look so much like a tired human boy.

"What do you want?" he says, and you shiver.

"My lord, death has left us." You clench your fingers behind your back so they stop shaking. "Chickens taken in for slaughter continue to flap and shriek, even after their heads have been removed. A farmer put down an ailing horse seven days ago, and it still thrashes in the stables.” You pause to wet your drying lips. 

"My little brother drowned during the last full moon, yet he plays with the other children, even though his skin is blue and he coughs water with every breath." A lump forms in your throat, and you push past it. “I beg of you to let him rest.”

Cool eyes regard you, and you fight not to look away. "Don't humans wish for immortality?"

You don't know how to respond to that, and can only offer the truth: "My lord, we do not know how long we can continue like this."

He watches you for a long moment, and it feels like the shadows draw in closer around you. Finally, he turns aside, looking back towards the figure on the stone bed. "I'm sorry, but I can't help you yet."

The shock of a god—the god of _death,_ no less—apologising to you almost distracts you from the second part of his sentence. "‘Yet?’"

He shakes his head. "He's still sleeping. Come back tomorrow night, and he might be awake then."

His back is towards you again, a cold wall of dismissal. You swallow your questions and bow again, before retreating to your camp.

Sleep evades you that night, and you curl tightly under your furs and watch as the sky fades into light.

-

On the second night, you bring a pouch of wild berries as offering, plucked from the bushes around your campsite. He inclines his head at the sight of you, and you set the berries onto the pile of yesterday's offerings. It looks untouched.

You wonder if he's moved at all since you saw him last night. You peer past him at the figure on the bed; disappointment sits in your throat when you see the steady up-and-down of his chest. The sleeping figure’s face is still shrouded, difficult to make out, but you think his hair looks lighter (or it might just be the moonlight, draining the colour from the strands framing his face). 

As if he can read your mind (and perhaps he can; you don't claim to know the ways of the gods), the god catches your eye and shakes his head: _not tonight._

He offers you no words, and after silence hangs in the air for longer than you are comfortable with, you hasten back to your shelter.

-

When you approach the summit on the third night, he is not alone. Your heart leaps, but the new silhouette cuts a different shape, taller and leaner, and the bed remains occupied. The two of them are conversing, so you duck your head and slip forward to leave a posy of flowers on the pile.

The newcomer turns as you approach, and his stare pins you where you stand. You shiver and bow, not daring to breathe until you feel his intense gaze leave you.

"You've picked up a stray, Osamu." You bite back the surprise at the name; you suppose even gods take on human monikers.

"They're harmless, Suna. Leave them alone."

"Hm. They're not the ones I'm worried about." There's a shuffle of robes as Suna stands. "I hid you as best as I could, but it's been too long. Tell your brother to hurry and wake up already. The world can't wait forever."

“He needs his rest,” Osamu replies, and you sense that it’s not the first time he’s said this. Suna huffs. You look up in time to see the air fold around him as he disappears, and can't help the gasp that escapes.

Osamu spares you a glance. "You heard him. He's not awake yet."

He looks tired. Perhaps this is what gives you courage to speak. "Your brother?"

He nods. "My brother." Despite his exhaustion, his voice is fond, and he says no more.

-

As if Suna's visit unleashed a flood, you find a different visitor each night as you make your visit. Each one exudes a terrifying aura that belies their true nature, and you often find yourself cowering behind a rock until they leave so that you can add your offering to the ever-growing pile.

One night, there was a god who loomed over Osamu, the two beauty marks on his forehead scrunching up as he glared at both brothers. His impatience radiated off him in waves, though Osamu gave no indication he noticed, or even cared. Another night, a god with dark skin and kind eyes had clapped a hand onto Osamu's back and almost unseated him with his energy, and asked after the health of his sleeping brother.

All of them had the same request, when it came down to it: for Death to leave this empty mountain, and return to the world.

To each of them, Osamu gave the same response, never once leaving his vigil: "My brother is still resting. Come back tomorrow."

-

On the sixth night, you wake from a restless sleep to the sight of an unfamiliar figure tending to your fire.

He straightens when he sees you, his robes flawless despite crouching in the dirt. "You're awake, I see. Here, eat."

You eye the food he hands you, uncertain. You don't think these are from your rapidly dwindling rations, and you have heard stories about accepting food from gods—for he is undoubtedly a god, despite his slight stature.

"Don't worry, eating it won't harm you." His eyes crinkle slightly when he smiles. "I visited your home. Your family misses you very much, and are grateful to hear you are safe."

It’s a struggle to hold back tears at the mention of your family. "Thank you, my lord," you manage.

"You may call me Kita." Kita inclines his head, the darkened tips of his hair swaying with the motion. "I should be the one thanking you for looking out for Osamu and Atsumu."

You don't know what to say— you're here for your village, for your brother to know peace—but you don't dare to challenge his words. Instead, you busy yourself with eating the food, savouring the taste of home.

Kita stands up after you've finished eating, shaking his head when you move to join him. "I'll make the visit for you, tonight. It would be better for you to rest."

You sink back into your furs, grateful despite yourself; the wind tonight is especially biting, and your sleep has not been restful since the last full moon. The warmth of the fire and your full belly are already lulling you back to sleep, and you wonder if it’s a god’s touch that makes the fire roar strong despite the wind. 

Kita looks up towards the summit, cocking his head to the side, as if listening. “You should save your strength. I daresay you’ll be needing it for the trip home, very soon.” 

-

On the seventh night, the summit is empty. 

You creep forward, daring to hope, but sink back when you see that the bed is still occupied with a now-familiar silhouette. You leave today’s offering—a portion of food you’d saved from Kita’s visit—on the pile, which is when you realise that it has shrunk.

“So, you’re the one leaving ‘Samu all these nice gifts.”

You yelp, and turn to see a shadow unfolding itself from the darkness pooled at the base of the bed. Osamu materialises, perched on the side of the bed with your pouch of berries. He smiles at you, oddly amiable, and gives you a considering look as he drops a handful of berries into his mouth. “Thanks for the food,” he says, grinning around the berries. 

Juice stains his lips and pale fingers red, and you tremble.

A thought: the brothers are, as you thought, the very image of each other. 

A second thought, immediately: they are nothing alike, and you’re not sure how you mistook one for the other.

You look at the bed again. Osamu lies there, the exhaustion you’d grown used to seeing absent while he sleeps. His prone figure strikes you, somehow, and for a moment, you wonder if you’d ever seen him as anything other than asleep.

Your view is blocked when Atsumu moves in front of you, settling into the perch where Osamu had kept vigil. “You can run along home now, human. Your family is waiting for you, aren’t they?”

It’s a dismissal, but you are tired, and desperate. This is why you try to protest, to insist that your village _needs_ him, but Atsumu _looks_ at you with eyes devoid of humour, and your throat freezes up. 

Another thought, quiet and cowed: you are nothing but an ant, in the eyes of the immortals.

Atsumu yawns, breaking the spell. “I said, go home. You wanted Death back? You’ll get me back.” He casts you another look over his shoulder. “But first, I’m making sure my brother catches up on his sleep. I have to return the favour, after all.” He turns away from you, his back a familiar silhouette against the night sky, and it feels like your first night on this mountain all over again. 

“You have seven nights to make your goodbyes,” Death says, words hanging in the still air. “Use them well.”

-

It takes you four nights to return home. You find no comfort in your sleep, what little of it you manage to snatch; you dream often of two figures on a lonely mountain peak, one brother asleep and one brother watching, though you are never sure which is which. 

Your family greets you with tears on your return, and you grip your little brother tight despite his clammy skin. For three days, you spend every waking moment with him, engraving every smile and laugh into your heart. 

On the seventh night after you left the mountain, your little brother sleeps and his breaths slow to a stop. 

The village is quiet, and you exhale, and let your tears fall.


End file.
